


love me, take me to outer space

by idolrapper



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Coming of Age, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-07 08:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idolrapper/pseuds/idolrapper
Summary: If healing is 75% mind power, then the bone-deep sense of peace Jaemin feels after falling asleep midway through a phone call with Jeno is what cures him. His brain saysI need to see Lee Jeno againand his body bends over backwards to comply.





	love me, take me to outer space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jenuyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenuyu/gifts).
  * Inspired by [gravitational constants](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14460576) by [jenuyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenuyu/pseuds/jenuyu). 



> additional warnings: death and/or suicidal ideation, situational depression.
> 
> hi jenuyu-nim, i wasn't sure if _talk me down (take me higher)_ was part of the same narrative, i'm really sorry for going in a completely different direction from that (let alone _gravitational constants_ ). i really wanted to explore jaemin's pov and it kind of took a life of its own. think of it as a prelude to the latter half of _gravitational constants_ T__T i hope you enjoy ☆
> 
> notes: [lunar new year](https://imgur.com/a/3jF0EAT), [gravity stairs exhibit](http://olafureliasson.net/archive/artwork/WEK108985/gravity-stairs) at leeum. the timeline goes back and forth between 2016 (chewing gum era - christmas) and 2017 (new year - post we young era). and in case it isn't clear, the dream jaemin has is his body alerting him of his injury! please lmk if anything else is ambiguous.

Every Seollal, Jaemin’s mother used to tuck him into bed and tell him this tale: of two stars, a farmer and a weaver who met in the Milky Way and became so wrapped up in each other that the king commanded that they only meet once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month. But when that day finally came, they weren’t able to swim across the celestial river to be together, and their tears of longing flooded planet Earth.

In 2017, Jaemin sits on his bed, pushed up against the window, his arms wrapped tight around his knees, and watches the sky. A lone firework cuts through the clouds, a red peony that fizzles out against the moon. It isn’t followed by another. Jaemin closes his eyes, wonders if he squeezed them hard enough he’d fall asleep. If he’d stop _thinking_. If maybe his brain would just explode in a brilliant crackle and ooze out of his ears.

His mother would find him in the morning, slumped over in a puddle of his own brain juice. She would probably scream. And Jaemin would come back as a ghost, float his way to Apgujeong where he’d perch himself on a kitchen counter, waiting for Jisung to stumble in for his routine bowl of Oreo O’s, and he’d say, “Boo!” Jisung would also scream, and Renjun would rush in, fists already curled up, followed closely by Jeno, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, only in his underwear - ah, Jaemin really is going stir crazy, huh?

Jeno only sleeps in his underwear during the summer. Right now he’d be wearing this fluffy sweater that Jaemin’s mother had knitted for Jaemin when he was fourteen, a big ‘J’ lovingly stitched on the front. Jeno had stolen it from Jaemin back then, grinning as he told him, “The ‘J’ stands for Jeno!” He slid across the tiles in his Manchester United socks - _also_ Jaemin’s - as Jaemin chased after him, laughing so loud when Jaemin dug his fingers into his sides that Jaemin can almost hear it now. 

He opens his eyes.

The quietness of his room almost makes him keel over. 

He reaches for the bowl of miyeokguk his mother had brought to his bedside table after he’d retired to his room in the middle of their New Year festivities. His parents had invited a few neighbours, some family, and Jaemin was centre stage. He was the star. There was his first ever gold medal in speed skating hanging off the hat rack, a trophy on the kitchen counter brimful with keys, and there was chatter, about him being an idol, an idol at SM Entertainment no less. Someone boldly asked, “We haven’t seen you on television, Jaemin-ah.”

Jaemin just frowned a little. His eyes began to tingle, the brush of nettle against a bare calf.

“He’s taking a break,” his father quietly replied. A long, heavy moment later, he grinned, and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you all posted on his comeback! You’ll get sick of me!”

The room deflated with relief. 

The miyeokguk is just shy of cold, but Jaemin gulps it down in one shot, his stomach churning when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He wonders what time it is but he doesn’t get up to check his phone. He hasn’t checked it since he left Jeno on read nearly two days ago. _New Year’s is coming up!_ Jeno had said, _I’m going to wish for your safe return :^)_ “Jinx,” Jaemin had muttered, before he shoved his phone into the drawer of his desk. 

If he had to guess, he’d say it’s around 4AM. He has physical therapy in the morning but he never goes on more than three hours of sleep, and they’ve stopped saying anything about it, how his eyes are always the grey of a stormcloud. Sometimes he wishes they would. He doesn’t want to be given up on, not yet.

Not yet.

 

 

Jaemin is dreaming of Jeno when it happens. 

His eyes open and he’s standing in a school gymnasium, like the ones in American movies. Gold streamers strung above him, feet swimming in red balloons. He can hear _Clair De Lune_. It sounds ghostly and echoing, like it’s being played somewhere far away. 

Jaemin sees someone then. Had he been there all along? Jeno, in a fitted suit, black hair slicked back and glimmering under the pink light, swaying in the centre of the floor. His eyes are closed, and he looks so ethereal, so _happy_. 

Jaemin just watches. He doesn’t want to bother Jeno. 

“Jaemin,” comes a whisper. Jeno is in front of him, his face so close to Jaemin’s that Jaemin can feel Jeno’s breath drift between his lips. It’s cold as ice. 

“How did you get there,” Jaemin says, a smile tugging at his mouth. He takes a step back but Jeno grabs his hand and pulls him until their chests are flush.

“Dance with me,” Jeno says coyly. He drapes his arms around Jaemin’s shoulders, and Jaemin places his hands on Jeno’s waist. The way they move to and fro is liquid, and Jaemin holds Jeno tighter so he doesn’t spill between his fingers. Jeno lets him. And after an eternity, he murmurs, “Your heart is beating so fast.”

“Isn’t yours?” Jaemin deflects. Caught red handed, red in the cheeks. 

“Feel,” Jeno orders, and he brings Jaemin’s palm to his chest. 

There’s nothing there. Something wrings itself around Jaemin’s throat, something like fear. “I can’t feel anything, Jeno,” Jaemin croaks, swallowing drily. “I can’t feel anything.”

Jeno smiles. “Try harder.” He drags Jaemin closer, both of his hands skimming down Jaemin’s spine, tap tap tap to the tune of _Clair De Lune_.

“That hurts,” Jaemin says, shoulders hunching over involuntarily. His forehead presses against the crook of Jeno’s neck.

“What?” Jeno laughs. His fingers fist around the fabric of Jaemin’s jacket. His fingers might as well be knives. 

“That _hurts_ ,” Jaemin snarls, so overcome with pain he shoves Jeno away from him, and it hurts even more to see how Jeno stumbles back.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jeno says. He rushes forward again when Jaemin collapses onto his knees. 

It’s hard to hear over the blood sloshing against Jaemin’s skull, but the balloons pop beneath Jeno’s feet, one by one, and someone is calling out, “Jaemin, _Jaemin_ , wake up, please, wake up,” and Jaemin slumps against Jeno’s chest, and when he opens his eyes again, everything is white.

 

 

Seoul is hilly. They have to walk up a particularly steep slope to get to the pub, and when they reach the top, Jaemin buries his face in Jeno’s shoulder to mask his panting. He uses the opportunity to swaddle Jeno with his arms, Jeno’s backpack squashed against Jaemin’s chest. Jaemin sneaks a wet kiss on the side of Jeno’s neck, and Jeno yelps, shoving Jaemin’s face away.

“Do you know where this place is, Romeo?” Jeno asks, rubbing his neck. 

Jaemin hums, falling into step with Jeno. His backpack heaves behind him, full of Math homework he has to finish before their debut next week. “Take this left,” he says, grabbing Jeno’s hand and pulling him into an alleyway he recognises from Naver Map. 

“Your hand’s sweaty,” Jeno whines, but he doesn’t let go. 

“You should feel my armpits,” Jaemin says, yanking Jeno’s hand upwards. Jeno shrieks again, and his voice breaks for the tenth time this week. It’s not Jaemin who started keeping track but Donghyuck: he used the hoodie Mark left on the practice room floor to erase Renjun’s doodles off the whiteboard, yelling “Hear hear!” when he got past all the Moomins to a depiction of Jisung with blood dripping down his blonde bowl cut. Donghyuck then wrote _VICTIMS OF ADOLESCENCE_ across the top and each of their names down the side. So far Jaemin is winning, with eleven voice cracks tallied to his name, but Jeno’s catching up quick, and Mark’s Live AR recording of his Chewing Gum rap after school yesterday bumped him up from four to a solid nine. 

“Is this a good idea?” Jeno whispers, fingers clutching onto the back of Jaemin’s school shirt as Jaemin pushes through a bead curtain into the pub. The inside is gloomy and full of bulky patchwork sofas. It’s around 4PM so the place is relatively empty but there is a group of German students sitting in the corner, being served by an ahjumma who bats her fake eyelashes and curls her painted green fingernails around the arm of the tallest man as she hands him a soju bottle. 

“We won’t be here long,” Jaemin reassures him, beelining for a girl reclining alone on a couch near the counter. She’s listening to music on her phone as she absentmindedly braids her overgrown bangs. Jaemin tugs an earphone out of her ear and it thuds against the yellow SOPA jacket she still has on. 

“What do you want, Jaemin,” she says, glaring up at him. Her eyes dart briefly to Jeno awkwardly lingering behind Jaemin, but she doesn’t acknowledge him. 

Jaemin grins. “Is that your mom?” He gestures at the ahjumma, now perched on the arm of the sofa, chatting to the students in broken English. 

“She’s my aunt,” the girl says, “She’s a bit,” she circles a finger next to her head, “but she’s really nice. My dad on the other hand… He’s out back so if you don’t wanna get your ass kicked, you better leave now, Na.”

“Nah, I’m just getting comfortable,” Jaemin says, plonking down onto the sofa across from her, regretting it when his tailbone hits something lumpy underneath the fabric. He pats the spot next to him. “C’mon, Jeno, take a seat. Put in a good word for me. I’d make a _great_ boyfriend.”

Jeno eyes the entrance, looking a little constipated. “I don’t know, Jaemin.”

Jaemin feigns shock. “You don’t know if I’d make a great boyfriend? You’d know better than anyone. I cook for you, I give the best cuddles, I—”

“I’d hate to break this up,” their classmate says, sitting up. She looks between them, eyebrows pinched. “But Jeno’s right. You should go.”

“Excuse me,” Jaemin yells, twisting around to wave his hand at the girl’s aunt. “Can we get two beers, please?”

They end up getting kicked out by the girl’s father when he walks in to see her aunt pouring two boys in school uniform a Hite Extra Cold and goes so red Jaemin tells him he should just drink the beer himself. That gets them screamed at and they run out of the pub, laughing until their guts start to burn. 

And the girl - well, she ends up texting Jaemin that night, saying that she thought it was funny how he stood up to her father and that she’d love to go out with him. Donghyuck and Renjun are crowding around him when he gets the text, and he shows them her Kakao profile. She’s standing in front of Han River, in a billowing floral dress, and smiling so big it makes her eyes crinkle.

“Hey, don’t you think she kinda looks like Jeno?” Donghyuck says, and Renjun snorts his agreement in Jaemin’s ear.

“Huh,” Jaemin breathes. He looks up at where Jeno had sprawled out near the mirror after their last run of Chewing Gum, damp shirt pushed up to his chest. He hadn’t been paying attention but he’s watching them now. 

“Congrats,” Jeno says, face blank, and goes back to playing Candy Crush on his phone.

 

 

By springtime, Jaemin has spoken to Jeno three times. One, to thank him for his New Year’s text, two, to wish him happy birthday and make sure that he got the Gundam figure Jaemin ordered for him in March, and three, to tell him not to wait. 

“What _if_ you don’t come back?” Jeno says. Jaemin can visualise his incredulous expression over the phone, lips pursed and nostrils flaring. “What ifs don’t matter to me, Jaemin. You are coming back.”

“But I might not,” Jaemin says, keeping his voice even so he doesn’t let on how scared he truly is. He can hear his mom calling him for dinner from the kitchen but he just screws his eyes shut. Focuses on Jeno’s breathing, the way it comes out short and throaty and not at all pleasant, but still it calms Jaemin to know that Jeno can breathe, is alive in this moment. “I don’t know when I’ll be better. You’ve already promoted once without me. How can I make up for all that lost time?”

“You can,” Jeno whispers, “You can.”

Jaemin shakes his head. “It’s okay, Jeno,” he says tenderly, “People will forget. You’ll forget.”

There’s an aborted sob on the other line. The rustle of sheets. The crumple of a tissue. And then, “You’re selfish, Na Jaemin.” 

The call cuts out, and Jaemin doesn’t eat that night. He curls up on his bed, as small as his back will allow him, and watches the cherry blossom tree swaying outside his window under the pink light of a May sunset, his ears clinging onto the static buzz leftover after a phone call. He listens to it, hoping it’ll get so loud that it eats into his skull. His mother will find him in the morning, laying in a puddle of his own brain juice. She’ll probably—

 

 

Right before Christmas, SOPA’s entire second grade goes on a field trip to Leeum Museum in Itaewon. Jeno’s already left for his family home in Incheon and Donghyuck is preparing for a never-ending reel of award shows, and so Jaemin doesn’t have any desire to go by himself until his girlfriend rings him at 7AM the day of and tells him that if he turns up, she’ll (finally) kiss him with tongue in whatever secluded place they find in the museum.

“What do you want to be remembered for when you die, Jaemin?” his girlfriend asks, as they stand at the top of the Gravity Stairs. 

“Why do you ask?” Jaemin says, gazing past Mars, Earth, Venus, Mercury, the largest ring of light representing the sun, into the mirror across from the stairwell. The yellow lighting makes him look waxen, alien-like. 

“Doesn’t this make you feel small?” she says, tilting her head up to look at herself in the ceiling. Jaemin peels his eyes away from his reflection in the opposite mirror to do the same, ignoring the twinge in his neck. 

Not small, Jaemin thinks as he stares into his own eyes, just fragmented. He jokes, “Don’t you always feel like that?”

She shoves his arm. “Jaemin, answer the question. What do you want to be remembered for when you die?”

“I think,” Jaemin starts, grinning as he steps toward her. “I want to be remembered for my handsome face,” he slowly crowds her against the wall when people start to filter out into the next exhibit, “And my incredible dancing,” he bends down, nosing against her neck, revelling in the soft gasp she makes, “And how well I can use my mouth.” 

But Jaemin is a liar. He’s always known. 

When he dies, he wants his tombstone to read: _he loved, more than it was possible for a heart to love._

 

 

When Jaemin was fourteen, he got tonsillitis. The manager drove him to the hospital and they waited three hours for Jaemin to go into the operating theatre. There was a thunderstorm that day, and Jaemin watched the lightning bloom through the clouds from his hospital bed. Jeno had known it was coming. He’d spent the night before dragging his shoes along the carpet and zapping anyone in his path, like his skeleton was made of electricity.

“Hey, nurse,” Jaemin said, turning to the lady who was taking his blood pressure. She was old, but she had a warm smile and Jaemin could tell she was very pretty when she was younger. He had a bit of a crush. “I think my best friend is a superhero.”

“Ah, really?” she said, eyeing his morphine drip. He’d told her he didn’t need it but every time she came in to check on him, he’d taken another hit, giving her a sheepish look when she laughed. 

“He’d make me his sidekick,” Jaemin said proudly, “If you go out with me, you could be famous.”

She undid the cuff around his arm, and patted his head. “You’re very brave, Mr Na.”

People told him that often. 

He was three and fell off his tricycle. His dad picked him up and dusted off his knees and told him, “You’re being so brave,” when Jaemin held in his tears. 

He was ten and his classmates dared him to climb onto the roof of the janitor’s shed when their ball got stuck in the gutter. He didn’t fall, but the English teacher caught him and as he was dragged to the principal’s office, she seethed, “You’re brave but very stupid, Na Jaemin.”

He was twelve and in his last speed skating competition before he left for SM. He’d gone so fast he thought he’d start a snowstorm, felt blue flames bleeding out of his eyes as he zeroed in on the finish line. Jaemin found out later that they were shouting at him to get off the ice because someone had spotted a fissure in his path, but through sheer luck, he’d missed it, and the judge held up his hand and announced, “Gold for Na Jaemin, for the bravest play of the year!”

He hadn’t stopped being brave the second he met Lee Jeno. It was a gradual thing, how he watched Jeno from afar, how there was always a word on the tip of his tongue that he could neither spit out nor swallow, how he started to ache in an ancient, profound way. It was the metamorphosis of a butterfly to a caterpillar. 

Around June, Jaemin has to visit SM, nothing formal, just to chat to them about his status. Jeno still isn’t talking to him. Jaemin is bombarded with gentle hugs and _I missed you_ ’s but Jeno hangs back, much more interested in his feet. A small smile betrays him when Jaemin pulls himself out of Jisung’s arms and says, “Alright, you can all get your autographs later, I have to go.” A smile, and maybe, just maybe, a bit of expectation, when Jeno stands near the door, scrolling through his phone. But Jaemin brushes past him without a word, and he feels nettle leaves all over his body as soon as he’s in the corridor.

 

 

Jaemin’s girlfriend breaks up with him the day after Christmas. 

He expected anything from _your breath stinks_ to _there’s no use dating an idol, we’ll never be able to see each other when you leave school_ , but instead she says through tears, “You’re so selfish, Jaemin.”

“How,” Jaemin asks. He isn’t sad. Just angry. “ _How_.”

“You just are,” she cries, “You don’t think about anyone but yourself. You’re dishonest, even to yourself.”

Jaemin inhales, a deep, hoarse sound. “What do you—”

She hangs up.

 

 

Jeno texts Jaemin on the hottest day of June.

It’s nothing but a simple _i’m sorry_ but it gets the job done. Jaemin replies, _i’m sorry too_ and a picture of the hole in his sock, his big toe poking out. Jeno sends back a row of kekeke’s and a video of Nal sleeping on his lap, captioned _isn’t she the cutest?_

That’s Jeno’s entire camera roll: his three cats, occasionally interspersed with whatever idiotic prank Donghyuck’s decided to pull on Mark and asked Jeno to film, and the duck-faced selcas Jaemin would take when he waited for Jeno to wash up and come to bed for cuddles. Jeno will show pictures of his cats to even a cashier in a convenience store while Jaemin picks them out icecream, like a grandfather whipping out his wallet, a tongue of baby photos rolling out. Once, he made Jaemin Facetime Bongshik, hooking his chin on Jaemin’s shoulder and cooing, “Shik, Shik, Bongshikkie,” at the screen. 

Jeno picks up on the second ring. 

“If Bongshik and I were drowning,” Jaemin says, no preamble, “And you could only save one of us, who would you choose?”

Jeno laughs, and the sound cuts through Jaemin like a lightning bolt. “Bongshik, of course.”

Jaemin pouts. “Of course? Really?”

“I’d make sure she’s safe,” Jeno begins, his voice reverent in its quiet dreariness, “And then I’d jump in after you I guess. I wouldn’t let you die alone, Jaemin.”

 

 

They talk nearly every night after that, and Jeno comes to visit a couple times. If healing is 75% mind power, then the bone-deep sense of peace Jaemin feels after falling asleep midway through a phone call with Jeno is what cures him. His brain says _I need to see Lee Jeno again_ and his body bends over backwards to comply. He’s given the go ahead by his physiotherapist to start promoting again in August, but by then NCT Dream have already released another song, and Jaemin’s back on hiatus, as perfunctory as placing a toy back onto a conveyor belt. 

“Until next _year_?” 

“Pretty much,” Jaemin says, rolling onto his stomach on his bed. He places his phone on speaker next to him, and fiddles with a thread poking out of his pillowcase. “They wanna roll me out with the rookies instead of trying to shoehorn me into your Christmas promos I guess.”

“What the hell,” Jeno complains.

“I knooow,” Jaemin says, allowing himself one self-indulgent whine before he smooths it over, “But it’ll be okay, I’ll be back before you know it! Next year isn’t that far away.”

“You’re just saying that,” Jeno says.

“You miss me that much, huh?” Jaemin teases, expecting Jeno to hit him back with the usual _shut up_ or _no? nope_ or _I’d rather eat Chenle’s socks than admit that_.

But instead Jeno sighs, and says, “Yeah, I do.”

Jaemin gulps down a nettle leaf. “Even more than your cats?”

“Don’t push it,” Jeno chastises. But he adds, under his breath, “Maybe.”

 

 

That night Jaemin goes down to the creek that runs below the buzzing intersection near his house. He follows laughter down the wooden stairway where a few late night stragglers are enjoying the weather. Jaemin sits near the edge of the creek, knees tucked in close. He imagines for a moment what it would be like if he fell in. Hit his head on a stone beneath the shadowy water or perhaps were strangled by the reeds winding around his feet. He shakes his head, and his pale corpse floats to the surface, black strands of hair haloing his head, and eyes staring up at the stars.

Jaemin’s mother will get a call from the police and she’ll come rushing through the intersection, not even bothering for the lights to turn green. She’d see his body being fished out of the water, dark purple reeds tangled in his hair, and she would scream, falling to her knees. 

But Jaemin will be long gone. 

He pops up inside the Dream dorms. Jisung’s fast asleep on the couch, and Jaemin drifts by him, pushing his hair out of his eyes and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He makes his way to Jeno and Renjun’s room, trying to stop the door from creaking as he opens it until he remembers he can just phase through it. 

“Who’s there?” Jeno whispers, sitting up in bed. His blonde hair is frizzled with sleep and the sleeves of his sweater hang over his hands, one held against his bewildered face. If Jaemin still had a beating heart, it would ache so painfully at the sight of him. 

Jaemin steps out of the shadows. “Hey,” he says, and it sounds stiff and clumsy coming out of his dead mouth. 

“Jaemin?” Jeno says, reaching for his glasses. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” Jaemin tries. He goes to Jeno’s bed, too fast to be human. Jeno jerks back, eyes widening.

“Nana,” Jeno says, voice quiet. It quivers a little. His fingers curl around his sheets. “Nana, you’re scaring me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jaemin murmurs, before he leans down and kisses Jeno full on the mouth. He tastes electric, warm, everything Jaemin no longer is, and Jaemin’s so in love he feels his bones start to fade away, unable to contain it. He pulls back, and Jeno’s eyes are closed, cheeks rosy and mouth parted just so. He looks like he’s in bliss. 

“Goodbye, Jeno,” Jaemin says.

 

 

 **from: jaemin**  
**to: kkulee kkulee makkulee**  
>what if there was something u wanted to do  
>but it was so scary u’d rather die than do it

 **from: kkulee kkulee makkulee**  
**to: jaemin**  
>would doing this thing be worth it?

 **from: jaemin**  
**to: kkulee kkulee makkulee**  
>i don’t know TT___TT

 **from: kkulee kkulee makkulee**  
**to: jaemin**  
>would it make you feel better? in the long term?

 **from: jaemin**  
**to: kkulee kkulee makkulee**  
>yeah

 **from: kkulee kkulee makkulee**  
**to: jaemin**  
>then do it  
>NO RAGRETS

 **from: kkulee kkulee makkulee**  
**to: jaemin**  
>regrets*  
>^^ donghyuck btw

 **from: kkulee kkulee makkulee**  
**to: jaemin**  
>IT’S A MEME

 **from: kkulee kkulee makkulee**  
**to: jaemin**  
>aw hyung don’t feel bad that u aren’t as fluent in english as me. at least u know korean…  
>oh wait u don’t  
>and jaemin, yes u should tell jeno u wanna get into his pants  
>he jerks off to ur pics and then cries into his pillow like everyday  
> sometimes at the same time  
>^^ also donghyuck

 

 

Jaemin moves back into the dorms in November. The apartment is empty when he gets there, the members off at some school festival, and it isn’t exactly the grand entrance he was secretly hoping for. No confetti, no cake, no giant sign that says _Welcome Home Nana_. Just Jaemin and his suitcase, feeling like a wonky compass in a familiar place. 

He takes the time to reorient himself. The bathroom door has been painted yellow. Someone’s bought a coffee machine and haphazardly placed it on a dining chair because they ran out of counter space. Chenle’s pyjamas are stuffed behind a cushion on the couch. Ten has created an art exhibit across the hallway walls, but a sticky note has been placed across each drawing to read: _Hyung, your mind is fucked up. See a therapist. Renjun._ Jeno’s bed is unmade, and if Jaemin dared to step any further into his room, he’s sure it would smell like him.

At around 3PM, he gets tired of waiting for them to come back. He lights a candle in his bedroom, just a simple lavender, and he crawls beneath the covers. Outside his window is the skeleton of a tree, backdropped by a morbid November sky. He looks at it until his eyes grow heavy.

And he wakes up in a school gymnasium.

“This again?” Jaemin mumbles, his voice muffled against something.

He’s pushed back a little. Jeno is holding onto his shoulders, his face wet with tears. “Jaemin? You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin laughs, “I’m okay.”

“I was so worried,” Jeno sniffs, aggressively wiping his nose with the sleeve of his suit. “Look, you even made me cry.”

Jaemin reaches up to touch Jeno’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” Jeno says. He leans into Jaemin’s touch, just a soft puff of a cloud on a clement day. “Can you walk me outside? I have to go home.”

“Home?”

“Yes,” Jeno says, frowning at Jaemin’s confusion. He doesn’t say anything more, leading Jaemin through the doors, onto the sidewalk of an empty intersection. “We have to wait for a taxi.”

Jaemin looks out onto the silent road. “Looks like we’ll be waiting a long time,” he jokes.

Jeno holds onto Jaemin’s hand while they wait, and they watch snowflakes dance in the lone yellow street light, turning silvery and dark as they sleep against the black ice. He’s started to sing to the instrumental of a Christmas song filtering down from above them. Jaemin had looked up and felt a shudder go through him at the unlit window of a Hollys Coffee. 

“ _Arirang, Arirang, Arariyo, you’re going over the Arirang hill_ ,” Jeno sings lightly and kind of off-key, as a taxi pulls up next to them. The driver’s seat is empty. Jeno lets go of Jaemin’s hand, their fingers pulling apart like magnets. “ _My love, you are leaving me. Your feet will be sore before you go._ ”

Jaemin stands there for a while, watching the taxi turn into a speck against Gwanaksan, _where even in the middle of winter days, flowers bloom_. He closes his eyes, and then opens them again.

 

 

Jeno is practically sitting on top of him. He grins down at Jaemin, palms placed on either side of Jaemin’s head. “Hi there,” he says.

Jaemin maneuvers his hand around Jeno’s body and digs a knuckle into his eye. “What time is it?” he asks, voice croaky. He tries to sit up to find his bearings but Jeno is like a paperweight, unwilling to let him fly away.

“Just after five,” Jeno tells him. “How was your nap? What was I doing in your dream?”

Jaemin feels bowled over. “What?”

Jeno grins even wider. “Don’t feel embarrassed. You only said my name about a hundred times.”

“I dreamt about you?”

“Yeah?”

“I dreamt about you,” Jaemin repeats. _Live everyday like it’s your last_ his brain tells him, in a voice that sounds a lot like Mark. 

“Yeah, you di—” Jaemin rolls them over in one smooth move (he hopes), pinning Jeno to the bed. Jeno raises an eyebrow at him. “Such a fucking show off,” he says.

Jaemin tilts Jeno’s head back with a hand in his hair, peppering kisses all over his bared throat. His teeth graze over Jeno’s Adam’s apple, and Jeno’s breath stutters, hips pushing up. 

“What are you doing?” Jeno says weakly. The candlelight makes him look even redder. “I know you missed me, but—”

Jaemin laughs into Jeno’s cheek. Like this, he can feel Jeno’s heartbeat against his chest, and it makes a fresh wave of thirst crash through him. “You don’t know what you’re in for,” he threatens, kissing so close to the corner of Jeno’s mouth he’s surprised Jeno doesn’t immediately resist. “You’re going to wish I never came back.”

Jeno pulls a face. “Why?”

Jaemin pauses mid-cackle. Jeno asking that wasn’t part of his gameplan. 

**PLAYER:** Nana  
**OUTCOME:** Jeno’s heart  
**OPTIONS:**  
A) Brush it off with a cheesy pick-up line  
B) Be honest

Jeno stays silent, docile almost with how he lets Jaemin cup his face, lips falling open before Jaemin’s fingertips have even started to skim over them. Jaemin drags his gaze away from Jeno’s mouth to his eyes, the dazzle of lightning as he stares up at Jaemin. 

As Jaemin rushes in, he gives Jeno an answer: “Because I would die for you, Lee Jeno.”

**Author's Note:**

> a mini soundtrack of the songs i listened to while writing this:  
> 1) [_electric_](https://youtu.be/uwWrSR8SFEc) \- alina baraz  
>  2) [_clair de lune_](https://youtu.be/NTfeMhyyy5o) \- claude debussy  
>  3) [_anxiety_](https://youtu.be/dax4HnDLCEM) \- blackbear  
>  4) [_once upon a december (piano version)_](https://youtu.be/bs2VL_HYG9Y)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/nohyuck) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/millennium) ♡


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